


Home Improvement Stores (Or, How Peter Parker's Life Improves Itself)

by moonlighted



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, I might also add Coulson in eventually, Pepper too, Peter-centric, Probably also Fury, bc im lazy and unorganized, i am Peter Parker + the Avengers trash, why am I not putting this in the characters tag you ask
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7515134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlighted/pseuds/moonlighted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter was just chilling at Home Depot and then was all of a sudden invited to be an Avenger?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drywall? Captain America? What is going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should not be starting something else. Alas, I am, because I suck. Hope everyone enjoys this.

Peter stares at the shelves of drywall panels, wondering if his apartment even had drywall, and why Aunt May hadn't just come here herself. God knows she's more equipped at home improvement stuff (is that what it's called?) than Peter is. 

He's actually been having an okay day so far — Flash's antagonizing has lessened considerably in the past few months, there were no crimes during the school day that he needed to sneak out for, and his brief, after school patrol had gone well, because criminals are stupid and Peter packs a good punch.

Yet now, he has to be here. At Home Depot. Yes, Peter Parker, a man (child) who doesn’t know the faintest thing about fixing walls.

And really, standing in a musty-smelling aisle in Home Depot isn't that bad, but Peter has better things to do. There's also the added bonus of his non-existent knowledge of carpentry, which sort of annoys him, because he doesn't like not knowing about things. Which isn’t bad, unless you have an inflated ego. Peter doesn’t have an inflated ego, since he hates himself, but he does have a bit of a superiority complex in terms of knowledge. Those are not the same thing.

Why he's making such a big deal about it is beyond even him, considering he's literally just picking up some cement and drywall. He isn't even going to be doing much with the actual fixing, apart from handing Aunt May things and feeling useless. It's not a big deal — Peter's just being an idiot and thinking too much, and the lady at the end of the aisle seems concerned with how long he's been blankly staring at panels of drywall.

Now that he's noticed this, he feels awkward and slowly backs away from the shelves, walking off into the next aisle. Which is trashcans. They have an aisle for trashcans. What a time to be alive.

Peter walks into the aisle, to be amongst his equals, and chooses to sit on a discarded bucket that should probably not be sat on. But everyone knows that the best place to sit and wonder why you’re like this is on a bucket in the trashcan aisle of Home Depot. It’s almost therapeutic.

He looks around the aisle, hoping that there isn’t anyone hiding behind the obnoxiously tall and orange ladder that is currently obstructing his view. He especially hopes that there’s no one he knows, because that would make this sort of slightly awkward situation into A Bad Situation.

Evidently, there is someone, because Peter can hear footsteps, and it takes him too long to decide whether it’s worth getting up from the bucket or not because a person does emerge from behind the ladder. That person is Captain America. Like, actual Captain America. _Twitter verified_ Captain America.

And Peter is sitting on a bucket.

The entire aura of Truth, Justice And The American Way hits Peter like a wave, and he sits there, staring at the hero like a deer caught in headlights. This can’t be real, because this is a Home Depot. In Queens. There’s absolutely no reason The Literal First Avenger needs to be here.

Yet here he is, looking utterly bewildered at one of those new electronic trashcans that say 'hello' and open up on command.

Peter thinks those trashcans are stupid. Why do trashcans need to talk to him? He talks to himself enough.

The hero hasn’t looked Peter’s way yet, so Peter slowly stands up, and tries to casually walk past Captain America, who, of course, decides to back up just as Peter does so, resulting in Peter bumping into his very muscly back.

Peter opens his mouth, closes it, looks down, debates on the intelligence of talking to Captain America, and looks up to see the star-spangled icon staring right back at him. 

"Oh," he says. "Hi."

"Hi," Captain America replies. Peter tries not to get a boner over the fact that the superhero just said a word to him. 

"I—I’m sorry for, uh, bumping into you, Cap—Sir—um," he stops himself there and vaguely suppresses the long-suffering groan threatening to escape him. 

"No worries,” Steve says, giving Peter a small smile. “Call me Steve, by the way."

Peter smiles back, hoping he doesn't look too deranged.

“So I take it you're a fan?” Steve (Steve!) asks, an amused lilt in his tone.

Peter, now bright red, replies with an articulate, “Yeah, that’s, er, me. A fan. Yeah.”

“Don’t be so nervous, kid,” Steve smiles in such a Pure and Kind way that Peter wants to cry. “I’m just a human. A super human, but still, human.”

“Well, yeah, but you’re still Captain America. Like, ‘I-save-the-world-and-look-really-hot-while-doing-it’ Captain America. And I, a mere mortal, am completely unimportant compared to you. Also, I’m absolutely mortified right now. I deeply apologize, because I’m ranting, and you probably think I’m really weird, and I really need to stop. Wow. I hate myself. I'm gonna go now.”

Peter barely turns to make a run for it before Steve grabs his arm. Peter almost actually chokes.

“I don’t think you’re unimportant,” Steve says, frowning. “Only bad guys don’t matter. What’s your name, kid?”

"I'm Peter, though I can't see why _you’re_ interested in _me_."

Steve blushes. “I’m not—that’s not why I want to know. I mean, you’re not unattractive, but I’m not interested. If that’s what you meant. Though, I wouldn’t be opposed to it, of course. I’m sure you’re great—”

In the midst of Steve’s ramblings, Peter realizes what he just said, and subsequently, how it must sound to a guy from the forties. "Oh. Oh no. I-I didn't mean it like that, either, I was just—," Peter stutters, flushing a terrible shade of red, and waving his hands around, knowing he probably looks and sounds like an idiot. Because he is. Good going, Parker.

"I, um, I have to go," he blurts out, and runs, though he swears he hears Steve yell wait, but that's probably just wishful thinking and paint fumes.  

It doesn’t take him long to make his way from the trashcan aisle to the front of the store. Running like crazy tends to do that. Of course, his luck is just off the charts, because just as he stumbles out of the front most aisle, there's two guys with guns holding up the store.

Yup, the universe despises Peter.

Apart from the annoyance and wanting-to-die, though, Peter wants to know what in the heck they plan on stealing from Home Depot. Air conditioners? They're expensive, but there's literally a bank a few blocks from here. They could walk to it in, like, five minutes.

Returning to his previous point, criminals _are_  stupid—in fact, so stupid that they don't notice when Peter ducks back into the empty aisle and strips to his suit behind two conveniently placed carpets. Thankfully, in Queens, Home Depot is cheap enough to not have working security cameras (he knows this for a fact; this isn't Home Depot's first rodeo), so he runs no risk of being unmasked. 

Peter climbs up the shelf to look at the robbers from above, and the cashier looks up. She spots him, and he puts a finger to his lips. Unfortunately, thing 1 and thing 2 look in the same direction as she's looking, and, after a brief moment of hesitation, fire their guns. Okay. Peter was going to be nice. But he really doesn't like guns.

He webs both the guns and yanks them up in seconds, flinging them on top of the shelf. Then, he jumps down, giving them the best menacing look a human being can manage through a mask. 

"Wow, you robbers sure are getting smarter and smarter by the bunch," Peter says, and quickly dodges thing 1, who tries to tackle him. The guy plants face first into the floor, and Peter webs him there. The second guy stands there, looking much more tentative than the other. 

"Okay, so you're the smart one," Peter says, and the guy looks confused, which sort of disproves Peter's point but whatever. "Smarter, at least. What did this guy—" he points back at thing 1, "— tell you? ‘Yo, dude, I have a brilliant idea. Let's rob a Home Depot. Not a bank, not even a grocery store, a home improvement store. Home Depot.' Honestly, you guys, just racking up those I.Q. points."

With that serving as a handy distraction, he flips up behind thing 2 and webs his feet out from underneath him. The guy also falls face first, and Peter yanks him back up, spins him around, and kicks him in the face. Thing 2 goes out like a light, and from the corner of his eye he sees Steve standing at the end of an aisle looking mildly impressed.

Steve just saw him in action. Steve looks impressed. _Holy shit_.

Peter (painstakingly) ignores him, and turns to the cashier. "Call the police for me, will ya? I got to skedaddle."

With that, he turns to leave, but no, Steve just has to speak up. "Spiderman," he says, jogging up to Peter. Peter turns to face him, hoping his Spiderman voice isn't too similar to his Peter voice, because if Cap recognizes him, everything will fall to shit. Everything.

"Kid," Cap repeats, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder. Peter looks at the hand, then back at Steve, who removes it from his shoulder and has the decency to look sheepish. "That was a mighty fine job you did there. Someone could've gotten hurt, but you prevented that. SHEILD's been looking at you closely since that thing with the lizard guy."

"SHIELD?" Peter asks, because isn't that the agency that got everything shared on the internet? Corruption? Nazis? Peter doesn’t want to be a part of that.

Internally, he also freaks out a bit because Steve just said he did a ‘mighty fine job.’ Peter can finally die at rest.

"Oh, er, the good remnants of SHIELD, I guess. One day, come by Avengers tower. We'd love to talk to you."

"Okay," Peter definitely does not squeak, no sirree. "I'll  _swing by_  sometime. Ahem. See ya, Cap."

"And Spiderman?" Steve says, and Peter braces himself for the 'Just kidding, I know that Spiderman is actually some nerdy teen running around in spandex. Forget your secret identity. You'd never make it on the Avengers.'

Although Cap may be a bit nicer about it. Old-fashioned manners and stuff. 

Except it doesn't come. Instead, Cap says, "Did you see a teen, tall, brown hair and eyes in a hood run out of here, per chance?"

Peter doesn’t buy it for a second. This has to be a joke. Cap has to recognize his voice, or his physique, or something. Surely this is all just a ruse. Peter knows Steve isn't an idiot; in the few times he's come across the Avengers, he's seen him throw around strategies like he can tell the future or something. It's madly impressive—and kind of intimidating, but the point is, someone who spends his life working with spies and assassins and other assorted dangerous people should be able to figure it out, considering it's Peter's worst kept secret since he tried to tell his aunt he was straight. 

Peter realizes he's been standing there without response for far too long, so he clears his throat and decides he's going to wing it. 

"Oh yeah, I saw a kid like that book it," he says, doing his best at lowering his voice. "Good common sense." 

"Yeah," Cap laughs, shaking his head. "That's good. See you around, Spiderman."

This isn’t possible. Steve has to know he’s lying. Peter sucks at lying. One time he broke one of Aunt May's mirrors, and he tried to tell her it was the cat. They didn’t even _have_ a cat. Besides, even if he _was_ great at lying, this is Steve Rogers, Patriot and Superhero Extraordinaire. He can probably _smell_ secrets.

 _Surely_ this is a trick.

Except it isn’t, because it’s been a minute and a half of Peter taking too long to leave, and nothing has happened. The cashier clears her throat. Steve shifts his weight between his legs. Peter sighs, shakes his head, nods in Steve’s general direction, and runs out of the shop.

He's already swung two buildings away before he realizes he left his stuff there, and so he sheepishly returns to the store, ignoring an odd look from the cashier (ungrateful child) and leaves with no dignity and a webbed up bundle of clothes. At least Steve wasn’t there to witness that. Peter might’ve actually committed suicide.                  

A few swings more and he’s landed in the alley next to his apartment building. Careful that no one is watching, he pulls his civilian clothes back on, ripping off the gloves and mask and shoving them into his pocket. Inconspicuously, he strolls into the building, walking to the elevator. Luckily, there's no one there, so as soon as the doors close he dramatically slams himself against the wall and shrieks. Because he met Captain America. At a Home Depot. In Queens. How is this his life? This doesn’t even sound vaguely plausible.

Not to mention, Cap wants him to be an Avenger. Him, an _Avenger_. Peter wants to scream and cry and jump up and down. He’s going to be an Avenger!

Though, right now, he needs to explain to Aunt May why he didn’t end up getting drywall. Shit.

Peter exits the elevator, walking (skipping) to his door and entering the apartment. He lazily dumps his backpack on the table, calling out to Aunt May, who walks out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her pants.

“Hey, Peter, how was school?” she asks, walking over and giving him a hug.

“It was alright,” Peter shrugs, and for a moment he hopes she’s forgotten about the drywall, until—

“Hey, where’s the drywall I asked you to pick up?” May looks around the room expectantly.

“I— um,” Peter gulps. “I couldn’t find the right aisle.”

May raises an eyebrow. “You couldn’t find the aisle… the entire time you were there.”

Peter nods, smiling weakly. “The entire time.”

She gives him a look that says, 'you're either lying or an absolute moron,' and Peter wants to tell her that both are true but he doesn't. He just sort of shrugs and smiles some more and sprints to his bedroom, contemplating the pros and cons of jumping out the window.

(In the end, he decides not to, because he knows he'll survive.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets a letter and subsequently loses his shit.
> 
> (Or; In which I give Peter literally one thing to be happy about and then Gwen swoops in like a fashionable reverse deus ex-machina to remind Peter that his life sucks.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens in a very predictable, overused way. I apologize. Also, someone tell me if this is moving too fast, because I don't know how to write.
> 
> (Bonus: Wine mum Aunt May!!)

* * *

It's been weeks since The Steve Incident at Home Depot, as Peter calls it, which resulted in Aunt May having to go herself the next day, Peter having to learn how to fix walls because "I can't do  _all_  the work around here, Peter," and a lot of cringey flashbacks. 

Despite his awkward encounter, though, things have been going steady for a while. Nothing eventful has happened in his life, which is sort of suspicious, but Peter decides to regard it as some well-deserved relaxation. One can only take so much superhero-ing before they get worn out. 

It's just after his first noon patrol, which went alright, except for a small cut on his side courtesy of a very angry mugger with a small knife (Peter's weakness), but he did end up webbing the guy to a wall upside down, so he counts it as a win. The sight of his apartment building is a comforting one as he walks up to it, shoving the doors open and smiling at the people in the lobby. They don't smile back, but Peter can't bring himself to care. He walks over to the mail-boxes and pulls out his keys, opening the box and pulling the mail out. Holding the letters in his hand, he jogs to the elevator, pressing the up button and stepping inside as soon as the doors open. 

Because he's a nosy shit, he starts thumbing through the mail. It's the usual— bills, bills, taxes, bills, and did he mention bills? But he stops at one thin letter, eyeing it in confusion. This is because said letter has his name on it. 

Usually, he doesn't get mail. Actually, Peter's never gotten mail, so seeing his name on the small sticker stuck onto the envelope is a bit odd. Then, he sees a small logo in the corner, which is a large, bolded **STARK** with a sharp line over the top and side. This is very obviously the logo for Stark Industries.

Peter frowns, because what the heck would Tony Stark's company want with him? Peter can't do much in particular. He mainly spends his time regretting everything he does and wanting to die. 

Though, there are those internships that Peter's heard about. That's not entirely unreasonable. He can factor in his grades—he's second in his class, while Gwen still holds first place. Even after the entire Giant Lizard Debacle, she's still remained loyal to Oscorp, and he wouldn't be surprised if he was their second option after she had refused. 

Stepping out of the elevator, he shoves the letter in his pocket, vowing to not read it in front of Aunt May, because while he dearly loves the woman, she asks a lot of questions, and Peter needs to find out what this is by himself. Just in case. After all, it could be a letter kindly informing him that they know he's Spiderman and will be revoking his superhero license immediately. Tony Stark can probably do things like that. Tony Stark can probably do anything. 

He pulls out his keys and enters the apartment, a mixture of dread and excitement rising in his stomach. 

Peter shakes his head, throwing his backpack down on a chair and calling out a greeting to Aunt May, whose response comes in the form of a muffled 'Hey. I'm drunk,' coming from her bedroom. He laughs, rolling his eyes and walking into his room, collapsing on his bed and groaning. Figuring his Aunt's too out of it to come and check on him, he pulls the letter out of his pocket and rips it open. Pulling out the paper, he reads:

 _Mr. Peter B. Parker,_  
_This letter has been sent to inform you of an internship availability at Stark Ind. With your accomplishments in the academic field, we believe you are a promising candidate for this job. Below, you will see a set of instructions printed out, should you want to take advantage of this opportunity._

Like the letter says, there's a date for an interview, as well as contact information for someone named Pepper Potts. 

Okay. Time to be excited. Peter sits up, rereading the letter as if his eyes are deceiving him, because if he's correct, he was just offered a job at Stark Industries. He squeaks (a very manly squeak. Peter is totally masculine. Beer. Bitches. Protein) and places the letter carefully beside him on the bed, before jumping up and flailing a little bit. It feels like his heart has just swelled up, like the Grinch, even though that's scientifically impossible, but whatever. He just got offered an internship. 

With a wide grin on his face, he bursts into Aunt May's room with the letter in hand. She looks up, holding an empty wine glass with a hazy smile on her face.

"Hey, Peter, how's it going?" she says, grinning and placing the glass on the nightstand. "I'm drunk."

"I heard," Peter replies, plopping down on the bed next to her. "Listen, Aunt May, I have to tell you something."

"Peter," she says, shaking her head. "I _know_."

She knows? What? Is Peter _that_ bad at keeping secrets?

"You know?" Peter asks, because that seems slightly impossible, considering he _just_ got the letter. And it was unopened. And the mail wasn't even collected. There really isn't any way she could've found out before he did, unless she's a mind-reader. That _also_ can't be the case, however, because if she was, then Peter would already be grounded for the next twenty-seven years. 

"I've known you're bisexual since you were nine," Aunt May suddenly says, smiling and placing a hand on his shoulder. "You know I love and support you."

Oh. That makes sense. 

Peter blushes, clearing his throat. "First of all, not what I was going to tell you, but, er, thanks. Second of all, _I_ didn't even know when I was nine, how could you have possibly —"

"We always know, Peter, always," Aunt May says in the most sinister way she can. (Which isn't very sinister, honestly. Peter doesn't make the mistake of underestimating her, though. Aunt May will slap a bitch under the right circumstances.)

Peter blinks. "Well, um, I was actually going to tell you about this." He waves the letter around.

"What is it? A scholarship? Arrest warrant?"

"No it's not — arrest warrant? What kind of teenager do you think I am?"

There technically _is_ an arrest warrant out for him. He doesn't have to tell her about that, though.

"Well, I don't know, Peter. You're being kind of ominous."

"It's not — I'm not going to be arrested, May," Peter says, shaking his head. "What this is, is a paper offering me an internship at Stark Industries." Peter grins at her.

Her jaw drops, and she snatches it out of his hand. Her eyes widen as she reads it. "Oh my god," she laughs, looking up at Peter. "You got an internship! At Stark Industries! My boy!"

“I know,” Peter says, bouncing up and down excitedly. "Well, technically it's only an interview, but I have really high hopes, and just — ah!"

She yanks him into a hug, squeezing him tightly. He gladly returns it, burying his face in her shoulder. 

"This is wonderful, Pete," she whispers. "Your parents would be so proud of you."

Peter smiles, ignoring the small ache in his chest in favor of the overwhelming joy. "Love you, May."

She grins back. "Love you too, Peter."

Peter stands, ducks down to kiss her on the cheek, and runs back to his room. He collapses on the bed, sighing contently. Yanking his phone out of his pocket, he begins to compose a text. 

**you'll never believe what just happened to me, gwendoline**

* * *

 

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” is the first thing Gwen says as Peter walks up to the table she’s at.

Peter frowns, because full names are never a good sign with anyone, _especially_ if that person is Gwen freaking Stacy (who is and always will be the baddest bitch Peter knows). He’d know if she was saying it in a joking way, too, but this is her full on ‘you are either, a) about to die, or b) going to have five minutes to explain yourself/apologize, and then die’ tone.

Silently, he runs through a list of the things he’s done that involve Gwen as of late. None of them would be particularly anger-inducing.

Well, there was last Monday, when he woke her up at two in the morning to discuss Harry Potter. But he knows she totally enjoyed that conversation, however she may deny it. So it can’t be that.

This leaves Peter with lack of conclusion, other than the fact that women are scary and he is too young to die.

“Gwendoline?” Peter replies, because he’s an idiot with an apparent death wish and no idea how to respond to Angry Gwen. He sits in the seat opposite her, giving her a curious yet cautious look.

Gwen thankfully just rolls her eyes. “Congratulations on the internship, Peter. Oh, by the way, you're Spiderman,” she says, and Peter splutters, looking around wildly before leaning closer to her.

“Hey! Conspicuous much?” Peter hisses, and she rolls her eyes again, bringing her hand up and smacking him on the side of the head. Peter gasps indignantly.

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like _you’re_ the almighty secret-keeper.”

This is true. Peter is horrible at keeping secrets. But Gwen doesn’t have to be mean about it. Peter’s an emotionally sensitive teenage boy.

“First of all, _rude_. Second of all, what is this about?” Peter mutters, pouting (because he’s a mature and responsible fifteen year old).

“It’s your internship, Peter.” She takes a sip of her coffee like she didn’t just insult him. And then smack him. And then insult him again.

“Yeah, I was kinda under the impression you’d be happy for me? No?” Peter says, reaching over to tear off a piece of her muffin. Gwen sighs, staring at him like he's a stupid, kicked puppy.

“Listen, Peter,” she lowers her tone, leaning in toward him as well. “I want you to think real hard about this internship. Think about how hard it’s going to be for you to keep a secret from someone who is an _actual fucking Avenger_. Especially if you are working in their same general vicinity

Peter blinks. He did not think of that. "Oh," he says, with such articulacy and eloquence. "I've done a bad."

How could he have not thought of that? Peter's _Spiderman_ , which is a pretty big secret, considering that there's a literal arrest warrant out for him, and he just _forgot?_  On the ever-expanding list of Stupid Things Peter Parker Has Done, this has to be among the stupidest. It's not like he's actually a Not Smart person — he's built web-shooters for himself, he designed his costume, he's got good grades, and an impressive academic record. They all have to mean _something_. Except they don't. They're all worth nothing because Peter can't and will probably never be able to properly function as a human being. 

Why can't life be like science? Science is easy. Peter knows how to science. Peter does not know how to life.

And for fuck's sake, he should've known that the universe wouldn't let him be this happy without eventually screwing him over for shits and giggles. Really, this is just classic Parker luck, at this point: you have parents? No, you don't. You're uninjured? No, you're not. You're actually sort of excited for once? Fuck that. 

"In so many words," Gwen mutters, sighing. Peter snaps out of his self-deprecating internal monologue. "Know that I am happy for you, Peter, I really am. You deserve this internship, but it's going to take up more of your time, and it's going to be even harder actively hiding this secret from yet another set of people."

"Maybe I can," Peter argues weakly. "I've been hiding it from everyone else forever. What if I'm just, like... ultra-careful. _Super_ -careful."

"Super-careful," Gwen deadpans. "How are you even still alive?"

Peter sighs. "I really don't know," he mutters. "Are... are you saying I shouldn't take it?" he asks, trying not to look too dejected.

"Don't look so sad, Peter," Gwen replies. Peter wants to punch himself in the face. "You could give it a go, Peter, but honestly, you have a lot on your plate. Ultimately, it's up to you to decide whether or not you can handle the pressure."

"You're right, as per usual," Peter groans, burying his face in his hands. "Thanks, Gwen. You always know how to make me feel dumb."

"Oh, shush," she says, but she's smiling. Gwen reaches over and ruffles his hair. Peter grumbles, gently slapping her hand away.

"Would it make you feel better if I bought you a muffin?" Gwen asks, twirling her credit card in between her fingers.

Peter looks up. "Yeah," he mumbles. "It might."

(The muffin does end up making him feel better. Gwen Stacy is a goddess.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is confused about the number of Avengers there are and Clint just wants to find Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers are here, finally! Except I really don't know who to count as an Avenger so there might be continuity errors. Hope this is semi-enjoyable .

Peter sits, legs crossed, on the top of the building, anxiously wringing his hands. It’s a day after Gwen crushed his dreams, to which Peter responded by making the slightly terrible decision of going and scoping out Avengers Tower. Of course, he’s here as Spiderman, not as Peter Parker, because it would be a little suspicious discovering a normal, fifteen year-old boy sitting on top of an obnoxiously tall building.

(Seriously, though, who needs this many floors? Are they for storage? Bottles of scotch? Lost hopes and dreams? Which, actually, yeah, makes sense. Peter’s heard stories about Tony Stark.)

It’s still probably really suspicious to find a guy in red and blue spandex sitting on your roof, too, but at least the Avengers know that he’s a hero — something that Peter’s spent the last few weeks or so freaking out about. Now that he’s here, at their tower, which _Captain America_ invited him to, he just has to work up the courage to go inside.

This is harder than it sounds.

How would he even approach this? Does he swing in to prove he’s actually Spiderman and not some weird fan? Maybe he could just crawl on the windows until he sees Steve, and then proceed to try and break into the tower. That would probably result in him getting killed, arrested, or maimed, however, so no. Plan B it is.

Plan B just happens to consist of him pacing around on the rooftop, nervously wondering if Stark’s security has already detected him, and if there's an armada of iron suits coming up here, ready to Fuck Him Up™.

But, alright, he’s been angsting up here for fifteen minutes or so, and Stark could’ve probably already done that in fifteen minutes, so he might be safe. Maybe. Possibly. Probably not.

Peter sighs, face-palming. It seems about time for his daily ‘Why Am I Like This’ contemplation session.

Except, oh god, his spidey-sense is fucking screeching right now, and he whirls around to find some guy with arrows standing there, sipping a mug of what appears to be coffee and looking amused.

“At ease, Spidey,” the guy says, and Peter feels relief course through him at the fact that he wasn’t immediately shot. Still, he is quite tense.

Also, strange man with weapon and coffee. That does not sound very safe, even if arrows are a shitty weapon. (Really, though — this isn’t the 1500s. Pick up a knife or something. Actually, don’t. Peter doesn’t want to have to deal with that.)

“Um, hey,” Peter says, scratching at the back of his head. “Who are you?”

As smooth as crunchy peanut butter, Peter. Nice job.

The guy’s eyes widen, and he laughs. “Alright, I’m going to ignore that fact that you have no idea who I am, solely because you sound like you’re _twelve_.”

Peter blushes, thankful that the mask hides it. “I’m not twelve, thank you very much. Now, to reiterate — who _are_ you?

"You seriously have no idea?"

"I totally know who you are. That's exactly why I've asked two times." Peter shakes his head. "Do you work with the Avengers? Shield? I’ve literally never seen you before.”

If he says Hydra, Peter's going to be very angry. And maybe a bit scared. 

Arrow guy smirks. “I’m Clint, or Hawkeye, or dumbass. Depends on who you ask. I’m with the Avengers.”

Huh. Peter was pretty sure the Avengers were just The Best Boyscout, Rich Kid With Issues, Chill Scientist Guy With Worse Issues, and A Literal God. Apparently not. You learn something new every day.  

"Cool," Peter replies, giving a vague, shrugging gesture. 

"So, kid. What were you doing on the roof of our tower?"

"Oh. That. Ha, well, I was just... observing... the scenery."

"Observing the scenery? In New York?"

Peter shrugs again. Clint/Hawkeye/Dumbass raises his eyebrows, taking a long sip of coffee. 

Peter sighs, cursing his weak conscience. "Okay. If you're an Avenger, then you're probably smart, so I'm not going to lie to you. You see, the reason I'm here is because I encountered Steve — Captain America — a while ago, and he said you guys were considering me for the team, and that I should come by this eyesore. This was absolutely mind-blowing, because, well, I'm _me_ , and you guys are _The Avengers_. So I thought it'd be a good idea to come by, like he had told me to. Therefore, I swung here, onto the roof, to try and work up the courage to go inside. This has not yet been accomplished, because I suck and _you guys are The Avengers_."

Wow. He's just humiliated himself in front of two out of however many Avengers there are. That might actually be an accomplishment, in a warped sense. 

"Well." Clint takes another sip of his coffee. "You could've just knocked."

Peter hangs his head. "I'm — I'm dumb."

"Evidently," Clint turns around, walking towards the door again. Peter's about to panic at the thought that he just ruined his audition for the Avengers when Clint calls out, "Follow me."

Peter does his best not to squeak and scurries after him, bouncing on his heels. Clint leads him to an elevator, where they spend an awkward minute listening to soft Metallica and clearing their throats. 

As soon as the elevator stops, Clint strides out the doors, and Peter has to jog to keep up (he's short, okay? Let him live). 

"Uh, Clint?" Peter questions. "Where are we going."

"Here," Clint replies, walking through an automatic sliding door. Peter huffs slightly and follows him, stumbling into the room, because he's beauty, and grace, and might punch you in the face.

"Look who I found on the roof, guys," Clint says, and Peter looks up to see every Avenger looking right at him. Shit. Okay. 

"Uh — Um," he stammers. "Hey, everyone."

"Spiderman," Cap says happily, sitting up from his position on the couch. "You came after all."

Peter smiles (and then remembers they can't see it). "Well, yeah. How could I pass up an offer to see this place? Even the elevator looks more expensive than my house."

"It probably is," is the first thing Tony Stark says, walking over with a tablet in his hand. "Also, when did you and Capsicle meet? Where was I for that?"

"Well it's kind of a long story —"

Stark waves his hand dismissively. "I'm a busy man. So, you're this... Spider-ling? Crime-fighting Spider?"

"I mean, Steve literally just said it's S-Spiderman," Peter mumbles, while Stark shakes his head, poking at the tablet. 

"Okay. Give me your webbing," he says, holding out a hand.

"Take a guy out to dinner first," Peter replies, immediately wincing. Clint laughs a little.

"Tony," Steve admonishes.

"No, no, Cap, it's science time," Tony shakes his head, grabbing Peter's wrist and dragging him to the only unoccupied chair in their living room. He pushes Peter down into it. "The tensile strength is off the charts, kid. Who manufactured it?"

"I did," Peter tries to say casually. It doesn't work.

Tony raises his eyebrows, looking impressed. By _him_. Heck™.

Tony stares at him. Then looks at chill scientist dude. Then stares at him again. "If you made it, then...," Tony reaches over and pokes chill scientist dude (Bruce, right? Peter has no idea.) in the shoulder. "We have another science bro. Bruce. Bruce. Dr. Banner. Sweetie. We have another science bro—"

"I heard, Tony," Bruce says, rolling his eyes fondly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Spiderman."

"Pleasure to meet you too, Doc," Peter says. "I like when you turn into a giant, green asshole. It's kinda cool."

Abort. Abort. That was rude as frick. Peter literally wants a black hole to open up beside him and swallow him whole. It's time for 'Why Am I Like This' Contemplation Session number two. 

"Oh, he's like me already!" Tony says in a delighted tone. Bruce raises his eyebrows, and says, "Oh, dear. There's _two_ of them."

Peter isn't quite whether this is a good or bad thing. He's going to go with good, because optimism is always the way. Sometimes. Not really. 

"Lord save us all," some guy says, and Peter looks at him in confusion. How many Avengers are there?

"Who are you?" he asks, frowning.

"What? C'mon, man, I'm  _Ant-Man_."

Ant-Man? Ants? That's so... Weak? Sure, they're annoying as all hell, but they can't do anything. Maybe bite you, or ruin your picnic, or angrily wave their useless pincers at you. That's pretty much it. If _this_ guy is an Avenger, then he can totally be one. 

Peter stares at him. "... _Ant_ -Man?"

Tony snorts. Steve looks caught in between pity and amusement. Clint smirks again. Bruce looks dazed. 

"Hey! As if _Spiderman_ is any better," Ant-Man says indignantly.

"I mean, at least some spiders can kill people. But ants? They don't really do much."

"I like him," some other guy says. "Can we keep him?"

"I defeat you _one time_ , Sam," Ant-Man shakes his head. 

"Never again, tic-tac."

"Alright, I think we should all recall why Spiderman is here," Steve announces, nodding his head. 

"'Cause you invited him," Clint says. "Also, where's Nat? The light of my life? My best-friend?"

"The world may never know," Tony says ominously. Clint throws a pen at him. It doesn't miss, even when Tony shrieks and ducks.

"Because," Cap interrupts, "we want him to join the team. Ahem. I'm sure you all remember that discussion."

Peter smiles, hoping his mask doesn't show it. 

"Yeah, yeah," Tony says, "but he needs to meet with Coulson first."

"Who's Coulson?" Peter blurts out tactlessly. 

Clint smirks.

* * *

 

"Who is this?" Coulson(?) says, seeming unfazed by the boy in a brightly-colored spandex suit standing behind Iron Man and Captain America. He's flipping through paperwork of some sort, not even looking up at them.

"This, Agent, is Spiderman," Tony announces, waving his hands in front of Peter like he's an attraction of some sort.

Peter kind of wants to punch him. But he's all for team-building, and that would not play in his favor at all. Unless Clint was there to see it, probably, but he was busy looking for that Natasha lady somewhere.

Now Coulson looks up, though his face still looks neutral, and says, very calmly, "What is your identity?"

Peter blinks. "Um. You'll find out after this next commercial break," he says, and takes a step away. Tony yanks him back. He scowls.

"Very well," Coulson marks down something on his paperwork. "All in due time, Spiderman."

And then he walks away.

"Wait, Phil—" Steve calls out after him, but he's already gone. 

"I was expecting more of a conversation," Tony admits, looking between Steve and Peter. 

Peter shrugs. He didn't want to spend that much time with Agent Receding-Hairline anyways. The man's kind of scary.

"So," Peter turns to Tony and Steve. "What now?"

"We could haze him," Tony suggests. "Like an initiation."

"Absolutely not," Steve replies.

"You take the fun out of everything."

Steve ignores him. "You wanna join us for dinner, son?"

Peter nods his head. "Yeah. That sounds pretty lit."

(It is. Clint spends the entire time calling Natasha and whining when she doesn't pick up. Tony throws peas at him much to the chagrine of Steve. The ant guy feeds his ants grains of rice one at a time. Bruce and Sam make polite conversation about the weather. Peter has a wonderful time.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short and horrible and I am Sorry. The ending was completely rushed but I didn't want you guys to wait any longer because I love you all. Please love me back :-)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes to his job interview and Aunt May needs more wine probably.

It's at approximately 3:37 in the morning that Peter decides to take the internship. Despite what Gwen would say, it was not an impromptu decision — after spending an hour sobbing because he met the Avengers, Peter did think about his decision quite a bit. 

The fact of the matter is, Peter's a total _boss_ at keeping his identity a secret. Even Aunt May doesn't know, and she lives with him. This inherently means that a) it'll be so mcfreaking easy to conceal his identity, and b) he's totally not just being cocky due to sleep deprivation, because he's the actual best and that little voice in his head can shut the heck up. 

As a bonus, he can examine the behavior of at least a few Avengers (maybe. He's not sure if interns are considered worthy of Tony Stark's presence.) and compare how they act around him as Peter Parker, and as Spiderman. That isn't exactly an advantage, as it isn't really helping Peter in any way other than the sake of research, but still. It'll be cool, leading a double life. Like James Bond. But he's not British. Or that cool, really.

Alright, the point is, this is a decision that he completely won't regret. He should tell all this to Gwen. Better yet — he should make a PowerPoint about it. That'll show her for doubting him, Peter Parker, the bestest superhero ever™.

Peter snuggles into his bed happily, not even bothering to slip out of his suit before he relaxes. After all, it's not like Aunt May will just walk in —

"Peter?" Aunt May's voice disrupts the comfortable silence. The door swings open "You asleep?"

Peter shrieks slightly and yanks the covers up to his cheeks, curling up into a little ball. "Um." He coughs. "Yes."

"Well, I just got back from my shift and I wanted to check in on you," she pauses, giving Peter an odd look. "Are you alright?"

"Me? I'm fine. Great, actually. Just splendid," he rambles, desperately hoping that she didn't see anything.

"Did I interrupt something?" Aunt May asks slowly, before shaking her head. "Nope. Never mind. Not gonna ask. You can talk to me about anything, Peter. Goodnight."

"Wait, what?" Peter asks, before realization hits him like a truck. "No, that's not what I was — Aunt May! It's not what it looks like! That — I — _ugh_."

Well. At least she didn't see the suit, even if she does think he was jacking off. Peter cringes. He doesn't even want to associate his aunt with _that_. Ever. 

But anyways, he's completely capable of keeping secrets. It's not like he'll get a chance to sleep at his job or as Spiderman. There's no chance for any encounters like that. Ahem. 

With the benefit of hindsight, Peter quickly stands up and peels off the suit, yanking on a random t-shirt laying on his desk. He does this as fast as he can, so as to prevent any more surprise attacks. See, a master secret-keeper. 

Throwing himself back down on the bed, Peter breathes deeply, still confident (slightly less so, but, semantics) about his decision.

* * *

The inside of Stark Tower is terrifying when you're not there by invitation of Captain America. First of all, it's far too grand for Peter to feel comfortable wearing an oversized, shabby suit in, and second of all, everyone keeps either looking at him like he's a cockroach or completely ignoring him. This isn't really hyping him up for his job interview at all.

"Mr. Parker," someone says, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He whirls around, stumbling slightly, already wanting to die.

"Hey — hi, yeah, that's me," he says, and smiles at the random lady.

She smiles back, if a little condescendingly. "I'm Nayala Chahal, and I'll be interviewing you today. If you'd follow me," she begins to walk, and Peter bounds after her, probably looking like an excited puppy. 

They reach the elevator (which Peter recognizes, mainly because it still has weird metal music playing) and step in. Peter is vaguely reminded of his encounter with Hawkeye, except with slight less awkwardness and perhaps even more nervousness. 

They step out on the fourth floor, and she leads him to what he assumes is her office. 

"Take a seat, Mr. Parker," Nayala (Ms. Chahal? Mrs. Chahal? Peter doesn't know what's more or less respectful) says.

Peter nods and basically tumbles into the seat behind him, flailing a little. Feeling a blush rising in his cheeks, he looks up to see she's flipping through some paperwork, which comes as a great relief. At least he's the only one who knows his own failures, and he can bask in his shame alone. 

"So," she says, and he immediately snaps to attention, sitting up far too eagerly. "You're here for the internship, yes?"

"Yes," Peter tells her. "I got a letter in the mail about it."

She smiles. "How nice, Mr. Parker. We don't send everybody letters."

That gives Peter a (very) little bit of a confidence boost. He grins in his best award-winning manner, tilting his head and shrugging. _Okay, Peter. You got this. Can't be too cocky, can't be too insecure. Don't be either versions of yourself, basically._

"I'm sure there are a lot of kids that deserve this job."

Eh. Peter could've done better, but he doesn't really do that well under pressure and he's really very tired right now. 

"Yes, but you're the only one that's anywhere close to valedictorian," Nayala tells him, flipping through a file. 

"Really?" Peter's surprised. He'd have figured they'd have all sorts of students that hadn't slept for ten years solely to make time for studying. Sleep is for the weak and all that. 

"Yup," she sets down the file. "You're practically a shoe-in for the job, Mr. Parker. Would you like to discuss your options?"

Peter smirks. (Not in a mean way. In a nice, proud-of-himself type of way. The rest of the interview goes wonderfully. She tells him to expect a call. Peter believes her. Outside of the tower, he high-fives himself and walks away with a stupid grin on his face.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am Sorry™
> 
> you will be granted with more peter shenanigans soon, but i needed to get something out. sorry it's a bit short. enjoy loves :-)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter being stupid yet again! The Avengers are so fond of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish is my native language. I'm allowed to butcher it.

It takes him seven seconds to register that he needs to go as soon as he sees that there are a billion little robots trying to destroy New York. This proves to be a dilemma, because he's sitting at a table in his pajamas with a spoon hanging out of his mouth and soggy cereal lying forgotten underneath his head. 

"Ahem," he says, pulling the spoon out of his mouth. "Would you look at the time. I've got to go."

"Absolutely not, Peter Benjamin Parker," Aunt May snaps, not in an angry way but in a 'I've been given one child to take care of in my whole life and if he dies I will implode' way. 

"But Aunt May," he begins, and then registers the look on her face and sulks into his cereal bowl.

Once he's done with his cereal, he sneaks up to his room while Aunt May is doing the dishes, claiming that he has a Spanish project. ("Es... really-o, um, importante, Aunt May." ; "Just go, Peter.") It doesn't take him long to slip into his suit and swing out the window, ready to fight some little robotic shits. They're destroying Manhattan — because apparently, all super-villains decided that fuck Manhattan in particular — so he takes the shortest route he knows. When he gets there, of course, the Avengers are already on it, because they're awesome like that, and he immediately jumps into action, punching a few bots before landing next to Clint and Steve.

"Hey, guys," Peter says cheerfully, dodging a laser. "How's it going?" 

"Peachy," Clint replies bitterly, taking out three bots with one explosive arrow. 

"Hello, Spiderman," Steve says, sounding far too undisturbed for a man beating killer robots in with a shield. "I'm doing fine."

"Of course you are." Clint arms himself with three arrows and they somehow manage to go in completely different directions. Peter sometimes thinks that Clint might actually have superpowers, and he just doesn't tell anyone because he's a shit. 

They fight side by side for a while and the bots are almost all decimated, with their creator, Dr. Some Cliche Name Peter Doesn't Remember, being dragged away kicking and screaming by vaguely annoyed looking SHIELD agents. Peter sighs in relief, collapsing against some bench while Clint and Steve high-five wearily. His ears are ringing from all the machine-gun fire and lasers and whatever, (to give Super Villain #234335 some credit, they were all well-built bots. Sort of.) and even in his weakened state, he hears a faint beeping noise.

"Can you guys hear that?" Peter asks cautiously, hoping that he isn't going deaf, or crazy, or something. 

Clint frowns, but Steve's head shoots up. "Beeping," he says, and he, Peter, and Clint exchange a look before diving, but the explosion goes off quicker than they thought it would. Steve and Clint, because they're larger, are just thrown a few feet to the ground. Peter, because despite his superpowers, he is still 140 pounds soaking wet, is flung into a pole that he hits with his back, and he's sure that if he wasn't flexible enough to bounce back from the pole, his back would be broken. He's actually really not sure if his back isn't broken because all he can feel is pain and the weak cry he lets out would be humiliating if he was coherent enough to care. 

"Kid," Clint and Steve yell as soon as they stumble up, rushing to Peter's side. Peter groans as they gently turn him onto his back, every bone in his body aching. His head is throbbing, and everything turns fuzzy. Dots litter his vision, and he vaguely registers that the other Avengers all arrive next to them before he passes out, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. 

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up, Peter immediately slaps himself in the face. 

Not because he wants to be in more pain, but because it's a reflex, and he almost yells with relief when he feels his mask still secured around his head. He tries to sit up, propping himself on his elbows, but the effort proves to be too much for his back, and he falls back onto the bed with a grunt of pain. Bed. Peter looks around, frowning at the sterile, white room surrounding him. A hospital, maybe? What kind of hospital would keep his mask on, though?

"Kid," someone says, and Peter shrieks. His entire body jolts and he winces only to see Clint standing there, looking somewhere between amused and concerned. 

 "Don't wear yourself out, Spider-Boy," he warns, pulling up some stats on the tablet next to the bed. "But, you're doing fine. How come you never told us you had a healing factor? It's pretty impressive."

 "Uh," Peter tries to say, but his voice is hoarse. "It never really came up."

Clint hums. "Your vitals look okay, but you took a hell of a hit. You're going to be sore for a while."

"Funnily, I noticed," Peter mutters, grimacing at the ache in his spine. "How long have I been out?"

If Clint says anything longer than five minutes Peter is going to scream. It's going to be hard convincing Aunt May that his Spanish project involved him getting the shit beaten out of himself by robots. 

"A day," Clint shrugs, and Peter groans, summoning all the strength in his body and sitting up.

"I gotta go," he says, making the attempt to stand up, but Clint is at his side in an instant, (gently) pushing him back down. 

"Ha, um, you're not going anywhere, Spidey," Clint shakes his head. "You're going to stay here and recover."

Peter groans again, cursing himself for obtaining superpowers and getting involved in this mess. 

"No – listen, I got a... caretaker at home, and she's probably real worried about my scrawny ass, so," Peter shrugs and tries not to cry out at how much it hurts. 

"Wait, you, a superhero, have a parental figure?" Clint asks. "Amazing."

Peter snorts. "That was actually kind of sad, Clint. Do you need a hug or something?"

"Or something," Clint laughs, rolling his eyes. "I gotta go get Banner — he'll know what to do with you. If I come back and your spidery ass isn't here, I'll hunt you down and glare at you in a very disappointed manner."

"Well, when those are the stakes..."

"Shut up and sit tight, kid," and then Clint is gone, and Peter is alone in this meta-hospital room yet again.

He presses his hands to his face, wondering how in the hell he could explain this to Aunt May. Maybe if he just pulls the 'I fell out the window again' she'll let him off the hook, but probably not. He's used that excuse too many times. 

It's not too long before Bruce comes in, equipped with a clipboard and some suspicious looking medical tools. Peter forgets all about Aunt May as he flicks some weird needle thing poking out of him like a door-stop.

Bruce smacks his hand. "Don't do that."

"But Doc," Peter whines, "it looks so cool!"

"It's measuring the rate at which your cells reproduce," Bruce says. "Which is an alarming rate. Granted, you're no Deadpool or Wolverine, but still."

Peter perks up at the mention of Wolverine, because awesome (!), but who is Deadpool?

"Who's Deadpool?" he asks, because Peter is a master at the art of subtlety. 

Bruce shudders. "You don't want to know."

Peter concludes that taking the advice of the only sensible Avenger is a good idea, and doesn't press any further on the matter. Besides, Deadpool is a stupid name. Pools can't even die. 

"Well, Spiderman," Bruce says, poking at the same tablet that Clint had been poking at, "I'm fairly certain you'll make a full recovery in about six hours."

"Sweet. Can I go home now?" 

Bruce rolls his eyes. "Yes, but take it easy, Spiderman. You can't heal if you just keep getting more injured."

"Philosophical," Peter says, because he's a wretch, and stands up. "Where are my clothes?"

"Other room. Say hi to Cap on your way out. He was worried about you."

Peter nods, not risking screaming the moment he opens his mouth to verbally respond. Captain America is worried about him! Peter was somehow important enough to worry Captain America!

"Spiderman?" 

"Huh," Peter says, such an intelligent boy, elegant. 

"You're just sort of standing there."

"Right, er, gotta blast. Ugh. Bye, Doc."

(Peter hurries out of there and changes into his suit in record time. On his way out he finds the rest of the Avengers. Steve says he's glad Peter is okay. Peter makes a vague squeaking noise and stumbles into the elevator. Aunt May glares at him when he traipses down the stairs covered in bruises and civilian clothes. Peter smiles innocently.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter nearly dies in an elevator, is exposed, and has had an overall stressful day. When will the universe let him live?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unbearably late. I am so sorry, but school has been killing me. I hope you enjoy!

Peter gulps, taking several deep breaths as he stares at the walls of his tiny little cubicle. It's decorated much like the rest of the place — cool silver patterns and buttons and a bunch of other cool things that cubicles should not be worthy of.  
  
Another employee walks by holding some diagrams for an electron microscope, which Peter spots with his Ultra Spider Vision. Never in his life did he think he'd see someone walking around so casually with designs to the most powerful microscope in the world. This place is so awesome he actually might implode.  
  
As per usual, it feels odd being in Avenger's Tower for reasons not pertaining to superhero injuries or other super-business things. Right now, he feels like a mortal, interning for the great and powerful gods. And technically, he is, since Thor is a literal god.  
  
His life is so _awesome_.  
  
"Intern," someone snaps from a slightly bigger cubicle. Peter sits up excitedly. "Bring me coffee. Black, two sugars."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Peter obliges, happy to even have this job in the first place. Everyone starts out with coffee runs, but soon, he'll work his way into the big leagues. Probably. Hopefully. 

Well, there's always a chance that he'll amount to nothing and end up a janitor, but it's not like that's any less respectable! The world desperately needs janitors. He makes a mental note to thank the next janitor he sees.   
  
"Stop standing there and looking eager, kid. I need that coffee."

Right. There's a professional working at Stark Industries that wants coffee from him. Nice.   
  
"Right, yeah, sorry. I'm on it," Peter exclaims, stumbling out of his cubicle and to the lounge, his grin spreading from ear to ear.

Peter begins to look for the employee lounge, because that's where he figures the coffee is, and if it isn't, he'll just ask someone that seems a little nicer than that lady. Not that he doesn't know she's probably a decent person, but he's a sensitive guy. He likes other sensitive people. Peter tries not to get too distracted by his rampant train of thought and instead continues his search for the employee lounge. He wanders around the large floor, ducking his head so as to avoid making eye contact with the large scary business people. They're all tall and wearing grey, which is cool and all, but still. He is easily intimidated (which is probably not a good thing for someone in his profession).

Of course, he ducks his head so much that he manages to end up stumbling into the open, empty elevator that a bunch of people just filed out of. He considers jumping out and pretending nothing happened, but the doors are closing before he can decide what to do, so he sighs and waits.

And waits. And waits.

It takes him a full three minutes to realize the elevator isn't moving, but is actually just stopped. It dawns upon him that the shitty music isn't playing either. Peter stiffens, because getting stuck in a faulty elevator is up there with getting slammed into a wall by Doc Oc’s tentacles on his list of Least Favorite Things To Do.

The probability of dying in an elevator is 1 in 10,440,000, which is highly, highly unlikely. Probably even more unlikely for someone with superpowers. He knows this. It's fact, mathematical and statistical fact.

And yet here he is, on the verge of prying the doors open and climbing up the shaft in panic.

It's fine, though. Avenger’s Tower is a high-tech facility; they'll have him out of here in no time.

Peter sighs, leaning onto the wall of the elevator. Seriously, not ten minutes ago, he was just gushing about how happy he was with his job, and now? He's in a faulty elevator with no means of escape.

He's going to fight the universe behind a Chuck E. Cheese on the astral plane.

His universe-hating thoughts are quite literally thrown toward the back burner when the elevator suddenly shifts and creaks, moving around like it's swaying. Peter yelps, instinctively sticking himself to the wall. Oh god, _oh god,_ he's going to die in an elevator, all the statistics are bullshit, because no statistic can beat the Parker Luck™.

It creaks even more, tilting sideways a little bit. Peter’s heart rate quickens, and his breaths become shallower. For a few moments, the elevator is hauntingly silent, until a garbled, robotic voice rings out.

Peter sighs in relief, because Jarvis! Of course Jarvis is there!

“Jarvis?” he calls out. “You there, buddy? I'm in a bit of a pickle.”

“Spider-Man,” Jarvis says in a muffled voice. Peter winces.

“Yeah, but could you keep that fact on the down-low, man?”

“Someone – cutting the – evacuate – urgent—” Jarvis sputters out, and then goes silent again. Peter lets out an audible whine, crawling up the wall slightly as the elevator sways again.

“No, no, no,” he whispers, leaning his head back. “Where the fuck is _my_ cool superhero ending? ‘Spider-Man? Who's that? Oh, right, the hero that met his demise via fucking elevator.’”

Honestly, he's survived fighting a giant lizard mutant, a guy with giant metal tentacles, a guy literally made of sand, and a goblin, for fuck’s sake, but his true villain has proved to be this goddamn elevator. And whoever’s cutting whatever, according to Jarvis. Peter doesn't have the time to worry about that right now. He's too busy thinking about attending his own funeral as a ghost.

For shame, Avenger’s Tower. If he makes it out of this, he's suing.

He's so busy imagining the different ways in which he'll be crushed that his spidey-senses warn him about the lurch a split-second too late, and he loses his hold on the smooth, steel wall and falls forward, his head banging against the door. Peter groans, immediately pushing himself into a sitting position and situating himself in the corner of the elevator. He doesn't know how low he's gotten, probably down a floor or so, but he knows that if anything else happens, this thing is going to drop, like, a billion floors.

“Alright,” Peter mutters. “Damn my secret identity. I need to get out of here.”

He begins to pry the doors open, grunting as he's met with a small opening that leads to either death down below or him climbing on top of the elevator and up the wall. Considering his options, he decides to slip out and crawl up on the wall, stumbling (with beauty, with grace) onto the top of the elevator.

"Alright, Peter, you've made it thus far," he says, and looks up. There's a blob of movement at the very top of the elevator shaft, but if it weren't for his advanced vision, he wouldn't be able to see a thing. This person was up at the very top of the tower, seeming to be struggling with the cords. 

They also haven't noticed Peter's lean figure crawling up the wall, eyes wide and muscles tense. Okay, that proves to be an advantage, but he's going to have to be very quiet, and really very sneaky if he has any chance of not notifying the Bad Guy that he's there for as long as possible. Peter makes it up a lot of floors (too many, Stark really needs to minimize the storage in this place), and he ignores the fact that Bad Guy has spotted him and made a very alarmed sound.

"Don't fear," Peter shouts, his voice a little shaky from the excessive strain in his arms and legs. "Spider-Man's here!"

"Who the _fuck_ —"

"Dude, I just said Spider-Man— wait, oh shit, I don't have a mask on. Fuck," Peter rambles, managing to pull himself up to the ledge where the bewildered Bad Guy is staring at him.

"Oh my god," Bad Guy says. "I know Spider-Man's face. Holy shit, I know who you are! Ha, ha!" 

Peter glares. "Ha, ha, yes, you murderous asshole. Very, very funny. I'm laughing so hard."

Peter propels himself to the other side of the ledge and punches the dude, knocking him out fairly easily. He uses his sticky powers to stay upright and catch the dude from falling down 8328283 stories. Throwing the guy over his shoulder, Peter begins to try and pry open the doors of whatever floor he's on. Eventually, they budge, and by focusing all his force on one side, he gets it open and stumbles in, panting.

"What the fuck?" he hears, and he looks up to see Bruce and Clint staring at him.

Oh, no. This is, categorically, Not Good. There's no way they're going to believe that some dude who just climbed seventy-billion stories is just a regular old human being, now will they? Peter's played himself, he's played himself so badly that he's basically forfeited the game. God, he should've just let Bad Guy kill him. 

"Uh, hi. I'm one of the people trapped in the elevator. There are a lot of elevators here, but I'm pretty sure this was the only one? I don't know," Peter explains, pushing the dude off his back. "Here you go. I caught this dude for you."

Bruce gives him a bewildered look. "How did you...? There are so many floors?"

"Yeah, you guys should really minimize. It really wasn't that hard, though. I, um, I climb mountains."

Wow, Peter. Mountain climbing. Truly, a revolutionary super-hero, an educated man, an inspirational figurehead. Seeing the disbelieving look on their faces, the part of Peter that constantly wants to die grows forty times bigger. 

"That's impossible," Clint says, and Peter wants to retort with something like 'no, it isn't, you're not a super and you can still climb like hell, you dick,' but he doesn't say anything. Clint continues, "even if you were an avid mountain-climber, you don't have any equipment, hardly anything to hold onto, and all that mess. This leaves us with two explanations — you're some super we haven't heard about yet, or you're Spider-Man."

Obviously, he means this as a joke, and Peter is almost quick enough to play it off, but Bruce spots the look of panic on Peter's face and narrows his eyes.

"Wait," he says.

"Um, let's not wait, ha. Let's let bygones be bygones and ignore my existence forever, okay? See ya—"

"I thought I recognized your voice," Bruce murmurs. Clint looks between him and Peter a few times, frowning.

"You aren't actually Spider-Man, are you?" Clint asks, crossing his arms.

"No," Peter says.

"Yeah, he is," Bruce says casually. "Jarvis? Is this kid Spider-Man?"

 _Jarvis, please, dude,_ Peter thinks, but it seems that Jarvis' capabilities have not extended to telepathy, and so he answers with a hesitant, "Yes, Master Bruce. This is Peter Parker, but you may know him as Spider-Man."

"Fuck, fuck," Peter says, flapping his wrists. "Um, your computer is lying to you, obviously. I can't be Spider-Man! I'm, like, twelve."

Clint smiles sympathetically. "Cut the crap, Spidey. You were twelve in the costume, too. That hasn't changed."

Peter winces, sinking to the floor dramatically and sighing. "Gwen was right. I've had this job for a day and I've already been exposed. God, I'm such an _idiot_."

Bruce frowns, shaking his head. "No, Spider-Man, you're a rather intelligent man. You just lack in common sense, a bit. That's alright, though. Your secret is safe with us."

Peter shakes his head. His secret is safe with them? They work with super-spies and super-heroes and all that shit. His secret is as safe as a woman in the midst of patriarchal society. (His internal monologue would say it's not the time for feminism, but it's always the time for feminism). And, shit, they're going to know everything about him and all his friends and colleagues and—

They're going to know about Aunt May.

He must look very panicked, because Clint looks uncomfortable with a touch of concerned and Bruce looks concerned with a touch of uncomfortable.

"Alright, kid, I promise you. We can keep this between the team," Clint says. "Jarvis, can you delete all footage of Spidey without his mask on?"

Jarvis confirms that he can, and he's on it. Peter lets out a disbelieving breath. "But, why...?" he says softly, looking up at Clint in confusion.

"You're a good kid, what was it, Peter?" Peter nods. "Right. You probably have someone you want to protect. I know the feeling. We're gonna call the team up here, debrief them, Steve's probably going to hug you, and we'll call it a day, alright?"

Peter stares at him, genuinely confused but also immensely grateful for his kindness. "I— Thank you," he manages in a strained voice.

"You're welcome, kid," Clint says, smiling. "Bruce, you wanna call Steve and Tony? I'll get Nat and Scott and maybe Sam. Don't know where the hell Thor is, but we can get him too, probably."

"On it," Bruce says. "Are you ready, Peter?"

Is he ready? Can he really be ready for some of the most powerful people in the world to know exactly who he is? God, this day has turned out to be more eventful than he thought it would be. Still, having that weight lifted off his chest doesn't have to be bad. The thing is, all that lost weight is making him feel like he's floating away, losing control of where he's going. 

Spider-Man has been his secret for so long. Only one other pair of shoulders hold Spider-Man up. What's he going to do with another ten?

"Yes," he answers. "I'm ready."

( _No_ , he thinks. _I'm not._ )


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh my gosh," Steve says, pressing his hands to his face. "You're not just some random kid from Home Depot. You're Spider-Man. Oh gosh."

"Why did you meet at Home Depot?" Bruce, ever the pragmatist, questions. He alternates his inquiring stare between Cap and Peter, eyes narrowed. 

"I —" Peter sighs, pressing a hand to his forehead. "I was contemplating trashcans when I just saw _him_. Cap. The captain. Steve."

"Contemplating trashcans," Nat echoes, nodding her head thoughtfully.

"They talk!" Peter shrieks, feeling the need to defend himself. "They say _hello_! Why does a trash can need to say _hello_? What have we come to?"

Cap continues to rant in the background despite the fact that hardly anyone is paying attention, throwing some ancient swear words into the mix that Peter has no hope of deciphering.

"Maybe some people are lonely, Peter," Tony says, looking hurt.

"You _would_ think a trashcan is good company."

"You know what, Clint, I do happen to enjoy your company on occasion."

"People!" Steve shouts, and by instinct everybody's attention is drawn to him. "There is a situation at hand! Spider-Man is a _teenager_ and you're all talking about trashcans! Don't any of you have priorities?"

"No," Tony deadpans, while Bruce raises his hands peaceably

"Cap, he's a kid, but he's good at what he does," Bruce reassures him. "There's no need to get so worked up."

Cap gasps, shaking his head. "Well, geez, Bruce. I thought you were _sensible_. Jesus H. Christ."

"Golly gee, Cap, watch your profanity," Tony retorts, but he looks a bit abashed.

Peter sort of wants to tell him not to begin caring that Peter's a kid, but the middle of Captain America's crisis about him _being_ a kid doesn't seem like a good time for that reminder. That would be rather rude.

He opts to defend his own actions diplomatically. Diplomacy is important! Lying is more important, but diplomacy can be cool, too.

"So, um," he says, trying to sound somewhat like Bruce. "In my defense, I had an identity to protect. I have a, uh, parental figure. And a girlfriend. No, wait, not a girlfriend. A friend that's a girl. She's gay. I'm gay."

Well, there's nothing like outing yourself to the Avengers to build up your diplomacy skills. God, Peter is a shambling _disaster_ of a man. Boy. What the fuck ever. 

"Huh," Natasha says, arching her brow slightly. "Spider-Man is a teenager and a homosexual. What an intricate headline."

If J. Jonah Jameson ever published that, Peter might die. Not because he cares if people know he's gay (or bi, or whatever—umbrella terms, people), but because he could totally bribe the journalist department to make the headline, _Does Spider-Man Is Gay?_

Yes he does, New York. Yes he does. 

Still, mentioning it to the Avengers might've been a bit much. 

"You know, in hindsight, I probably should not have mentioned the gay," Peter mutters. "Too much. You already got my identity. Now you have my _identity_."

"Eh, who hasn't sucked a dick, really."

Clint examines his nails as everyone turns to stare at him. 

Peter goes bright red, because he has not, in fact, sucked a dick. That would not be good.

"Uh, um, that's me, I haven't. That's— that's illegal."

"So's being a vigilante?" Clint reminds him, flipping on his sunglasses. Where he got the sunglasses from, Peter has no idea, but if he had super spy stealth powers, he'd probably use them to retrieve random sunglasses too. 

"But that's, like... good illegal. Sucking d— um, penises is. It's not. It's bad illegal, if you're not eighteen."

“ _You're not eighteen_?” Cap questions incredulously, gaping at Peter and blinking rapidly. Trying not to wince, Peter smiles innocently. 

“Heh,” he manages, coughing quietly. 

Cap proceeds to sputter out some words about how he's too young to be a superhero (something Peter has heard before) and how he's too small to be one, too (something Peter usually hears from villains, so it's a nice change, he supposes).

“—Tony, he's a child! Defending New York? God, how could we be so blind?” Cap shrieks, his tone somewhere in between panic and concern.

Peter doesn't know why he's making such a big deal out of it— half these guys are in their twenties and thirties, fifties at most. It's not like they all started at the standard age of twenty-five. Hell, Clint probably started when he was seven or something, with skills like that, so they're all a bunch of hypocrites. Honestly, if his entire superhero career wasn't illegal, he'd sue the Avengers team for being frauds. (How many times has he attempted to sue the Avengers? Two? Three? That poor Coulson guy, these people are more of an insurance liability than Peter is.)

Plus, it's not like he can help that he got bit by a radioactive spider when he was just fourteen. It just kind of… happened.

Admittedly, he _did_ sneak into a scientific facility that he should not, under any circumstances, have been in. That hadn't been his best idea, but it'd been for a good cause! He had to know what happened with his parents, and if that meant he had to slink around shady laboratories and occasionally get bitten by the odd mutant bug, then that was that. 

Semantics, all of it. Superheroes were too moral for their own good.

“Alright, can we all calm down here?” Peter says, waving his hands in what he hopes is a comforting manner. Cap does not look comforted. He doesn't take it personally. “Listen, before this, all you knew was that I am a good superhero that deserves to be on this team, so why does that change because I'm a kid? I'm still good, you know. I can still _do_ things.”

"Yeah, your homework," Clint says and pointedly ignores Peter's resulting glare.

“Well, it kinda  _does_ change things, short stack,” Tony counters, pulling a Hershey’s bar from a random drawer and taking a bite (instead of ripping a square off like a civil, sensible human being). With a slightly thickened tone, he elaborates, “I mean, before we just thought you were some twenty year old who had super powers and was good at his job, if not a bit rough around the edges. But you're not even eighteen, meaning you're a minor, and as much as I know you want to believe that you know what you're doing, you don't.”

Peter considers both the benefits of arguing with Tony — not a good idea to argue with a man that has unlimited access to a mechanical suit that could kill him in an instant, and he'd seem childish, too — and the benefits of agreeing with Tony — he'd lose his chance to be with the Avengers, something he hadn't wanted only because of his identity, and he'd have to agree with Tony Stark. Peter was not a capitalist. Peter did not want to do that.

This left unforeseen, very bad option number three: complain about it until they were forced to agree under the sheer power of his whiny, fifteen-year-old, voice-cracking, never-ending shpiel of gross, teenagery words.

“Of course I don't know what I'm doing!” Peter shrieks, making sure his voice cracks uncomfortably. Cap, Clint, and Tony wince. Peter resists the urge to smirk. “But do you know what you're doing, huh? My dude, no one knows what the fuck is up. Literally no one. Having a crisis is like taxes! It's impossible to avoid in this economy! And, you know, I realize that most kids don't cope with their crises by becoming a superhero and fighting crime in grimy alleyways, but that's just a me thing. Tony, Mr. Stark, you gotta let me be me.”

Clint makes a disgusted noise. Behind him, Bruce mutters ‘my dude’ three times. Nat looks unbothered, but she always looks like that so it's fine.

Tony looks confused. High-five, Peter! You just bamboozled a literal genius. What a boy.

“I…” Tony begins, and Peter stares at him expectantly, hopping between feet, “do not know how to respond to that. The voice crack, the dudes, the everything… I have no idea how we didn't know you were a teenager.”

“Also,” Cap adds with urgency, “you're still not allowed to do anything until you're at least eighteen. If we have to get SHIELD involved, we will—”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Peter exclaims, looking at Clint who suddenly looks far more invested in the conversation. “I was promised that this would stay between the Avengers. No SHIELD. Bad SHIELD.”

“Well, they're not bad anymore.”

“Oh, what a comfort! I'll take your word for it, since I sure am glad you zapped the entirety of SHIELD with your anti-fascist gun and now they're picture perfect, aren't they?”

“Alright,” Clint says sternly, obviously wanting to redirect the conversation. Everyone ignores him.

“I didn't say that—”

“Alright,” Nat says, at least three volumes lower than Clint. Everyone stops.

“You little whores,” Clint mutters, and Cap gasps.

“Clint! No cursing around children.”

“What the fuck, my dude, I'm not ten years old.”

“Yeah, Cap, he _just_ turned eleven—”

Peter’s groans, rolling his eyes and readying to yell at Clint, but Nat speaks up again and everyone simultaneously decides that shutting the fuck up is a very good idea.

“Now," Nat says, looking pleased. "Peter, you're thinking that we all started when we were young—" _how does she even know that_ "—and it's true, we did. And it was hard. Being someone with so much power from a young age is bullshit. You know it and I know it. But I'm not at all barring you from going on as Spider-Man, or from joining the Avengers.”

Steve looks like he's going to argue, but Nat shoots him a look and he reconsiders quickly. Peter wishes he could do that, but everyone tells him he's got doe-eyes and he's too cute to be intimidating. Not that being told he's cute bothers him (it really doesn't) but cuteness doesn't help when one is being slammed into a concrete wall by multiple metal tentacles. God, that sounds weird. Every encounter he's ever had with Doc Oc has been weird. That dude has to have a tentacle kink or something — otherwise, he'd have chosen a more convenient animal, like a lion or a leopard. In which case, of course, he'd still be a furry, and Peter would still have to kinkshame him.

Back to the point, Nat was right. Superhero-ing was straight up bullshit. But he wasn't a fan of this reverse psychology thing... It was very suspect to him, especially coming from a spy. 

“What exactly are you doing then?” Peter inquires cautiously, narrowing his eyes. (He probably looks adorable — God is an asshole).

“I'm saying that the majority of us will let you be on this team, because this decision is yours to make, teenager or not. But just know that you have a choice, Peter. Not a lot of us did.”

Peter blinks, taken aback. He has a choice? What? Of course he doesn't have a choice. How could she even think that, if he had a choice, he'd be doing this?

If he had a choice, he'd be sitting at home, eating dinner with Aunt May; he'd be doing his homework peacefully and not worry about making ends meet to repair his suit every week; he'd be sitting on the porch steps and looking up at the muggy grey sky, he'd be listening to Aunt May talk about her crochet classes, he'd be repairing that stupid fucking wall—

He'd be sitting with his Uncle Ben, talking about the world, about life, spending time together like they used to.

Peter didn't have that option. He didn't have that choice. It was way out of her right to say anything like that.

“I never had a choice,” Peter says, and his voice is so oddly intense that Nat raises an eyebrow. “Someone died because of me. I could've stopped it, but I didn't. I was a coward, and this person who I loved — this person that I should've, that I would've given my life for in any situation — they're _gone_ and they won't ever come back. I carry the weight of that on my shoulders every single day, and the guilt will never leave me.

Believe me, I never wanted to be Spider-Man, but I guess someone once told be that if you have the power to help people, it is your moral obligation to do it, no matter what. The one time in my life that I strayed from that was the day that everything was taken from me. Spider-Man doesn't need Peter Parker, New York doesn't need Spider-Man. You're right about that, that I could leave and everything would be fine. But me, Peter Parker? I need Spider-Man. I need New York. I need to know that I'm not being the same coward that killed a man, I need to know that this person is looking down on me from wherever the hell they are and thinking, ‘hey, maybe Peter’s finally doing some good with that big brain of his.’ So you can take your self-righteous speech about how I'm just some stuck-up kid who got landed with superpowers and shove it up your ass, with all due respect.”

Nat stares at him. Peter reconsiders the wisdom of telling her to shove something up her ass, because she could probably kill him with a strand of her hair, so he's about to panic and beg for mercy when she suddenly smiles.

She  _smiles_.

It's a large grin, one he can tell she doesn't smile often. If only because of confusion, Peter doesn't know how to feel about it. The smile isn't predatory, it isn't mocking or malicious or anything that it should be. It seems familiar, knowing, like she's just read the ending of a particularly heavy book that weighed her down a bit. Peter — despite the prominent, insatiable ache in his chest, despite the rage, the unfairness of it all — finds the corners of his lips curling with the ghost of a smile.

“Welcome to the team, kid,” she says. No one argues with her. No one so much as makes a disagreeing noise.

“Oh, Peter,” Cap murmurs, eyes glistening and arms outstretched. “C’mere.”

Cap strides over to him and engulfs him in a hug. Peter blinks in surprise, but soon melts into it, because he’s hugging Captain America! Not a single person on this earth would pass up that opportunity, and here he was, receiving it for free with the only addendum being his Tragic Superhero Backstory™

Ah, tragic backstory. Never fails him. 

"Now," Cap says, wiping at his eye and pulling away. "Would you like to stay for dinner, Spider-Man?"

(Peter accepts yet again. When he excuses himself to call Aunt May and let her know he'll be late, Clint smiles at the vacant spot on the table, knowing that Peter might just be a kid, but he also might turn out fine, after all.)


End file.
